Here are glimpses of some of the victims of the Sept. 11 attack on The World Trade Center.

JAIME CONCEPCION

Forever Seeking a Reunion

Mostly he was not there. Not when she turned 15. Or when she graduated from high school. To Kirsy Concepcion, growing up in the Dominican Republic, her father, Jaime, was little more than a voice on a long- distance call promising that she and her two sisters would join him in New York someday.

Finally, last July, Miss Concepcion, 21, flew to New York, visa in hand. The man whose voice she knew by heart met her at the airport. They got to his apartment in Washington Heights after 3:30 a.m., time for him to head to his job as receiving clerk at Windows on the World. ''I really didn't know what he liked or what he didn't like,'' Miss Concepcion said. ''But he kept saying it was a mistake to have left us.''

Immigrant life in New York was not easy for Mr. Concepcion, 46. He worked in restaurant kitchens and saved his money. Over the years, he met another woman and started a second family. But he kept promising they would be together. ''He'd say, 'If it takes till the day I die you are going to come to New York,' '' recalled Virginia Concepcion, Kirsy's older sister.

After all those years apart, Kirsy Concepcion had just two months with her father, but she will never forget a single moment of them. Her sister Mercedes had a few weeks longer. But Virginia Concepcion's visa was not approved until November. Phone calls and photographs are all she has.

At the bar that night, everyone else at the Keefe, Bruyette & Woods table was young, male and in investment banking. The interloper, merry and unintimidated, was 34, female and a temporary secretary at the firm. But with her party sparkle and give-and-take humor, Jacqueline Donovan swiftly became an honorary member of the club.

From interloper to surrogate big sister: after her job became permanent, Ms. Donovan would regularly round up the guys, confirm the place, keep that party going.

''These stories make Jackie sound like a party animal,'' said her father, James Donovan. ''Well, she was.''

Ms. Donovan made parties happen. She planned outings of six women, friends since Catholic grammar school, every two months and chauffeured them around Long Island clubs. A fearless clown, she once wore a Gumby costume so big she couldn't fit into her girlfriend's car and so just jogged next to it.

Although she could win gold in the shopping Olympics, she bought as much for her family and friends as she did for herself.

Warm and big-hearted, Ms. Donovan danced comfortably among bikers as well as bankers. At her memorial mass, the service was briefly drowned out while guys outside revved motorcycles in her honor.

The charming, exuberantly silly little brother of three sisters, Mr. O'Neill, 34, was happily stepping into his life. For years a Northeast nomad, he had finally settled in Rye, N.Y., bought and fixed up a cabin in Vermont for skiing and family holidays, and on June 2, the wedding anniversary of his parents, James and Rosaleen, married Ms. Devine.

He still had that time problem -- didn't 7 o'clock mean 10 o'clock? -- and organization wasn't his strongest point. But a Labrador-like loyalty to friends and family certainly was. So was that un-self-conscious enthusiasm: who else but Uncle Sean would grab a wave skimmer, race into the water after the 11-year-olds, crack his head, sit up laughing, and cajole the other grown-ups to try it, too?

With his newfound mix of adulthood and youthfulness, Mr. O'Neill was even getting ready for fatherhood. His and Holly's daughter is due this month: Mr. O'Neill referred to the baby as the Devine Intervention.

HORACE ROBERT PASSANANTI

No One Stayed Mad at Him

No angel, Horace Robert Passananti, but an endearing fellow, nonetheless. ''We were still laughing as we waited for our appointment with the divorce lawyer,'' recalls his ex-wife, Maryann Passananti. His friend Lucy Prieto, who got him jogging between cigarettes and drinks, said, ''You just couldn't stay mad at Horace for long.''

The grown sons he adored, Sean and Michael, nicknamed him Bozo the Clown. Mr. Passananti, 55, a vice president for claims at Marsh & McLennan, had a goofy, pleasing charm, a gullible boyishness that rubbed people the right way. He was the guy who would have bought the Brooklyn Bridge.

And then he probably would have fixed it up himself. Mr. Passananti had a proud, artistic streak. Even though he skied, golfed and drove with equal furor -- a heat-seeking single, he was restoring a '64 white Corvette -- he could focus that energy painstakingly. He mastered origami. He tiled floors for his mother, Marie. For the family home, he made gingerbread molding, four skylights, and a deck with handcarved latticework.

Although most folks saw Arturo Angelo Sereno as happy-go-lucky -- as in, ''Sit down, Angelo, and tell us a story! Make us laugh!'' -- he was also an extraordinarily cautious young man.

When he crossed the streets of Brooklyn with his niece, Sabrina, 5, and nephew, Michael, 2, he would carry them. When he followed you in his car, he stayed several car lengths behind, the suggested safety distance. When you slowed down, thinking he was losing you, he'd slow down too.

Of course, you had to buckle up in his car before he started the engine. He did not jaywalk. He did not travel on planes.

He was cautious not because he was afraid for himself, but because he fretted that his loss would grieve those who loved him: his parents, Anna and Tom, his sister, Nancy, his 32 first cousins, his fiance, Diana Hughes.

He was right.

Mr. Sereno, 29, who worked for BP Air Conditioning, maintaining Cantor Fitzgerald's equipment, was also an extraordinarily selfless young man. If you mentioned that your shoes hurt, he would whip off his, say he'd only worn them once, and insist you take them. Insist. Insist. And he would not let up until, at last, you slipped into his comfortable new sneakers.

DENNIS M. MULLIGAN

A Loyal Practical Joker

Maybe you saw his face inside the firetruck racing through Midtown streets. Or maybe you saw him marching in his blue uniform in the St. Patrick's Day Parade. You'd remember that he was tall and broad-shouldered, with what Neil Skow, his lieutenant at Ladder Company 2, called ''that fine Irish smile that he had.'' And then you'd know a little bit about Dennis M. Mulligan, 32.

He loved practical jokes but was also a loyal brother and son, a pal to his nieces and nephews, who called him ''Superman.'' He liked to tell his sister, Patricia, that he was fireproof, though he once scorched his fingers on someone's birthday candles. He would visit the sick, including one woman who was severely depressed. ''He would go to her hospital bed every day, and he wouldn't leave until she laughed,'' his sister said.

Off duty on the morning of Sept. 11, he jumped on the ladder truck to help. Another firefighter remembered seeing him with a couple of other men from Ladder Company 2, escorting frightened workers from the lobby of 1 World Trade Center. He still had ''that Mugsy smile,'' the firefighter said, which seemed to reassure them.

Meeting Tu-Anh Pham for the first time, you'd notice that she emoted from head to toe, like ''a tiny little live wire who just smiled and glowed,'' said Frank Durham, an investor in the brewery she wanted to build in the Virgin Islands.

Hurricanes would defeat the concept, but it was just one adventure in her busy life. As a teenager, she was airlifted out of South Vietnam with her father and siblings in 1975, while her mother stayed behind. It was months before they were reunited, and Tu-Anh stepped in. ''She took care of us,'' said her younger sister, Mai-Anh Pham, a physician in Atlanta.

She met her husband, Tom Knobel, when they both worked at Dow Chemical in Texas in the early 1980's. He stayed with the company while she attended business school and held a series of jobs before joining Fred Alger Management as an analyst in 1997. She loved her work. He became a novelist. For years they longed for a baby, and the smiling Vivienne Hoang-Anh Knobel was born last July. After a six-week maternity leave, her mother, who was 42, returned to the office on Sept. 10.

An error has occurred. Please try again later.

You are already subscribed to this email.

A memorial to the trade center victims in Princeton, N.J., where she lived, consists of stones bearing a single word to remember each one. Tom Knobel chose ''determination'' for Tu-Anh Pham.

JEFFREY J. OLSEN

The Face of Salvation

Jeffrey J. Olsen, who was 31, grew up beside Kingfisher Pond on Staten Island, where he loved to fish but always released his catch, usually with a kiss. He scanned the sky for hawks and delighted in a full moon. He was Carol Olsen's sixth child, the baby of the family, and when he was 4 she enrolled in nursing school and took him with her every day. Driving home, they'd watch the sunsets. ''He had the gift of peace,'' she said.

People were attracted to him, like ducks to water, though in elementary school, ''some of his teachers were unaware of the genuine talent that sat before them,'' recalled his sister, Cynthia Dinkins. ''One young teacher was brought to tears as she recommended therapy.'' (He had been performing authentic-sounding bird calls in the back of the room.)

He married, became the father of two children and stepfather of one, and joined the Fire Department in 1998. He was a member of Engine Company 10, across the street from the World Trade Center, and was decorated for bravery. ''When someone is in the worst time of their life, the most dire straits, and then they look up and see a face and know they are going to be O.K.'' said his brother Neil, ''well, he loved being that face.''

IOURI MOUCHINSKI

In Pursuit of a Dream

Iouri Mouchinski planned to live to be 100. At 55, he had the good health and vigor of a 30-year-old, said his daughter Iryna Ushakova. A student of Eastern philosophy, he believed in unity of the soul, body and the world around him. About a year ago, he fasted for 28 days to cleanse himself.

''He was a man of extremely bright spirit,'' Ms. Ushakova said, ''striving each day toward self-perfection.''

Known for his strong will and optimism, he moved from Ukraine in 1994, leaving a position as a respected civil engineer, and became a handyman. He was starting his own engineering business and already had four employees. He seldom took days off and worked many weekends in pursuit of his dream, a country house where he could keep bees and care for his grandchildren.

Mr. Mouchinski was at the World Trade Center to pick up a check. It could have been any other day, his daughter said. But it was the morning of Sept. 11.

His wife, Natalia Mushinska, wrote a poem to the man she called ''my precious,'' including this stanza:

I want to continue

Our life

And keep you always

In my consciousness!

RITA BLAU

Butterflies Stir Memories

''I just miss hearing her, I miss listening to her,'' said Michele Buffolino, who used to talk to her mother, Rita Blau, twice a day, even when they lived across the street from each other.

''If she heard a good song on the radio, she hopped out of her seat and she was dancing with us,'' Ms. Buffolino said. She would tell stories of family members twirling her around the living room.

Ira Blau, her husband of 11 years, created a memorial room in their home for her, with candles, pictures and music. ''She came back in my life now as a sea gull,'' he said. He got a tattoo of one on his legs, in her honor.

So Ms. Buffolino has noticed sea gulls lately. ''When I get off the bus, there's usually one that flies off towards where the World Trade Center used to be.'' That's where Mrs. Blau, 52, was a telephone operator for Fiduciary Trust International.

''To me, my mother is a butterfly,'' Ms. Buffolino said. ''Anytime I'm sad, when I need to see her, I say, 'O.K., Ma, show me a butterfly.' '' She sees them everywhere now, in pictures, in stores.

MARK J. ELLIS

One Dream Realized

Mark J. Ellis always dreamed of becoming a police officer. At age 5, he played cops and robbers with a set of plastic handcuffs and a notepad that he used to write speeding tickets.

As he grew older, it became apparent that he had developed an affinity for the straight and narrow path. As a teenager, he lectured his older sister about getting speeding tickets, rarely went to parties and never drank alcohol, because he liked to stay in control.

By the time he joined the New York Police Department and became an officer in Transit District 4, his character was legendary.

''You couldn't get him to do anything wrong,'' said Officer Eric Semler, Officer Ellis's partner for three years. ''He might bend a rule, but he would never break a rule. It was almost to the point where it was annoying.''

But Officer Ellis, 26, who lived with his parents in Huntington Station, N.Y., did take risks. He was an avid outdoorsman and enjoyed activities like boating, mountain biking and snowboarding.

Having realized his dream of becoming a police officer, Officer Ellis set new goals. He wanted to marry his longtime girlfriend, Stephanie Porzio. And he applied for jobs with the Secret Service and the F.B.I. After Officer Ellis's death, his parents received acceptance letters from both agencies.

JOSEPH D. FARRELLY

Love Notes to His Queen

Joseph D. Farrelly met Stacey Goldberg when she was 17 years old. It was love at first sight for Captain Farrelly, then 21. But he waited nearly a month before he asked her out on a date.

''He wouldn't ask me out until after my birthday'' when she would turn 18, said Mrs. Farrelly, who married Captain Farrelly two and a half years later. ''That's the kind of guy he was.''

Captain Farrelly turned out to be the kind of chivalrous husband who always opened doors, washed the dishes after dinner and started his wife's car to make sure it was warm when she got inside. A 22-year veteran of the New York City Fire Department, Captain Farrelly, of Engine Company 4, also left Mrs. Farrelly love notes nearly every day, on her pillow or in her car.

''Joe made it a point to make her happy,'' said Marge Neefus, a longtime friend of the couple. ''I used to tease her all the time and call her the queen. He treated her that way. He dedicated his life to making her happy.''

Though the couple would eventually have a family of their own, for 10 years they served as foster parents to crack-addicted babies. Captain Farrelly, who was 47 when he died, always took the night shift.

WILLIAM LAKE

Tough Guy or Pussycat?

When Billy Lake was 7 years old and it was time for dinner, his mother, Helen, always knew where to find him: at the firehouse two blocks away, where Billy would peer at the trucks and chat with the men.

''He loved to be over there,'' Mrs. Lake said.

On Sept. 10, Firefighter William Lake, 44, celebrated 20 years with the Fire Department. To mark the occasion, another firefighter from his company, Rescue 2, in Brooklyn, whipped up a dinner of roast beef, shrimp and chocolate mousse for everyone on duty.

Firefighter Lake had all the trappings of a tough guy: a Rescue 2 tattoo, a Harley-Davidson motorcycle, hands terribly chapped from the time he dug through concrete to rescue two laborers from a collapse at a construction site.

''If he was in the military, he'd be a marine,'' said Firefighter Scott Stromer, a friend. ''If he was a hockey player, he'd be the goalie.''

But to really know Firefighter Lake was to know his tender side: to see him dote on his son, Kyler, 7, his mother and his cat, Boxy.

We are continually improving the quality of our text archives. Please send feedback, error reports,
and suggestions to archive_feedback@nytimes.com.

A version of this article appears in print on March 3, 2002, on Page 1001015 of the National edition with the headline: A NATION CHALLENGED: PORTRAITS OF GRIEF: THE VICTIMS; A Voice on the Phone, the Life of the Party, a Father-to-Be, Bozo the Clown. Order Reprints|Today's Paper|Subscribe